


Privacy

by ashleyerwinner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, casturbation, this is purely smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleyerwinner/pseuds/ashleyerwinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point, he realizes, the Winchesters have, once again, given him a home.<br/>More than that, they’ve given him privacy. As in, privacy enough to take his clothes off and do “private” things privately… with his own body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Privacy

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally went on the casturbation tag on tumblr today and then I thought of this enjoy (:

Cas lies in bed, starfished across the springy bed that seems way too big for him to sleep in alone. He scoffs at the irony; he had his own personal heaven, and now a queen-sized bed is too much space for him.

He attributes the feeling to the entire room being bare. He has absolutely no personal possessions, which strikes him as being incredibly sad all of a sudden. He didn’t have much when he was living as Steve, but he at least had a toothbrush, and a flimsy sleeping bag tucked away in the gas station break room. 

The walls in here are bare, the bed sheets white and pressed, except where he’s indented, a cloth-wrinkled angel — who’s not even recognized as an angel among his own family anymore. 

He doesn’t even have a picture of he, Sam, and Dean. There used to be a picture, one of the three of them, plus Bobby, Jo, and Ellen, but that was long-gone, burned in the fireplace merely a day after it was taken.

He can’t blame Bobby for wanting to destroy the bad memories he had of that day, but he’d have liked to kept the picture. He’d liked Ellen and Jo. He’d liked Sam’s arm around him, and Dean’s finger’s brushing gently on his shoulder.

 _Dean_. 

His body heats at the thought of that accidental touch. And even more, his fading grace isn’t enough to keep the human aspects of his body at bay. He  _longs_ for Dean’s touch, longs for his kiss, longs for his body on his. He longs for Dean, body, heart, and soul. He’s in love with him.

He feels his cock stiffen underneath the confines of his clothes. He lets his eyelids flicker shut and thrusts into the friction of his pants, breath hitching ever slightly at the not-enough touch. 

At this point, he realizes, the Winchesters have, once again, given him a home.

More than that, they’ve given him  _privacy_. As in, privacy enough to take his clothes off and do “private” things privately… with his own body.

That thought thrills him, and he makes haste to shed his clothing as quickly as possible, his breath ragged and body heating up. He lies back down on the bed, relishing the feel of the cool sheets on his bare skin, and starts exploring.

His eyes shut of their own accord as he trails his hand gently over his jaw, throwing his head back as he drags his fingernails down his neck, feather-light over his clavicle, and lets out a breathy moan as he circles his finger around his now-peaked nipple. The heaviness of his cock throbs on his stomach, and he takes a deep breath as he continues downwards. 

His fingertips trail down the soft skin of his stomach, over the tattoo on his side, his back arching as he breathes in deeply. It’s as if his body simultaneously wants to reach into his own touch and back away from it. It’s conflicting, and he loves it. 

His fingers trace the dips of his hipbones, dangerously close to the part of himself he’s neglected to touch thus far, and increasing the need and want of it all. He swallows a lump in his dry throat and wraps a hand around himself tentatively. 

He moans softly, a noise in the back of his throat, and squeezes.

“ _Oh_ ,” trembles from his open mouth, and his face scrunches up in concentrated pleasure. 

He thumbs around the head of his cock, smearing precome from the slit, and takes a deep breath before thrusting up into his own fist. He shudders and lets go, his cock bobbing against his stomach. 

He takes a deep breath and bends his knees, spreading his legs farther apart, and drags his fingers from the backs of his thighs, past the sensitive flesh between his thighs and his cock, and back up his stomach, to his nipples again.

He gives them each a pinch, then circles his thumbs around the tender, responding flesh, and feels all of the arousal shoot down to his achingly hard cock.

For a second, he imagines Dean’s hands, Dean’s thumbs, circling his hardening nipples, and his eyes snap open. He watches the flesh stand to attention, moves his fingers back and forth and watches his muscles spasm underneath his touch. He brushes his fingertips against his ribs and watches his cock twitch, watches precome gather at his slit.

He dabs at the liquid, and smears it between his pointer finger and thumb, and slowly brings it to his mouth, his tongue darting out quickly, tasting the bitterness of himself.

He wonders immediately if Dean tastes differently, how Dean would taste, how Dean’s cock would feel in his mouth, how the taste of him would feel going down his throat.

He strokes his cock a few times, loosely, imagining his mouth wrapped around Dean’s cock, imagining the dirty things Dean would whisper as he swirled his tongue around the head of his cock, imagining the lust-blown look in Dean’s eyes as he would look up at him, his lips still wrapped around his cock.

He feels dangerously close all of a sudden, and squeezes the base of his own cock, gripping the sheets around him and breathing through his almost-orgasm.

He can’t keep imagining Dean like this, it’ll only cause more problems.

But right now, all he can imagine is Dean, and his hand wrapping around his cock, squeezing it, whispering dirty things in his ear and making him beg for release.

He holds his fist tight and thrusts up into it, a whine escaping his mouth. He imagines Dean’s mouth pressed against his, shushing him, asking him how bad he wants it, how bad he wants Dean’s cock inside of him, if he thinks he can take it.

"Yes _, yes, Dean,_ " he breathes, and keeps thrusting his hips, snapping them up and shuddering as he falls back down onto the bed. Just as he’s getting close again, he pulls his hand away, and whines into the pillow. _  
_

He imagines Dean’s lips on his neck, sucking a mark into his skin, and imagines Dean asking if he wants his cock inside of him.

“ _Please_ ,” he says, and shoves two fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling saliva around them, coating them completely and abundantly until he feels that they’re properly wet. He spreads his legs with his other hand, imagining Dean’s doing it instead, and reaches between his legs, shaking as he brushes his spit-slicked fingers against his hole. 

"Tell me how much you want it," he imagines Dean saying, and he whimpers in response.

"W-want you so bad, Dean," he whispers, and pushes a finger past his rim, seeing spots behind his eyelids and clenching around himself. It’s intrusive, and new, and absolutely hot. He pushes in farther and thrusts up, trying to find friction that he’s purposefully taken away, trying to make this experience last longer. He imagines hearing Dean’s voice asking him if he can take more, and he nods dumbly, pushing his finger farther inside of himself, moving in small circles, his jaw slack as he crooks his finger and sees heaven, he’s sure of it, right here, and arches off of the bed, a moan escaping much louder than he’s anticipating.

"So loud for me," he imagines Dean saying, and brushes his fingers over his nipple, imagining it’s Dean’s plush lips instead.

"Everything for you, Dean," he babbles, and pushes a second finger inside of his body, scissoring and fucking himself on his own fingers, little moans and gasps escaping as he imagines Dean’s encouraging dirty talk in his ear.

"Want you to come, Cas," he imagines Dean saying, and he lets out a little whine.

"Want you to make me come," he says, "… _Dean_.” He moans, and finally takes his cock into his hand, continuing to fuck himself on his fingers and stroke his now come-slicked cock, pushing himself over the edge, moaning Dean’s name as hot spurts of come land in stripes gracelessly onto his chest and stomach.

As he’s coming down from his orgasm, he pulls his fingers delicately from his clenched hole, and lies starfished on his back, breathing heavily. His eyes open, and he huffs a laugh at the state he’s in. Come is drying on his chest, which is splotched pink and red, and sweat has slicked his entire body from his own pleasure. He’s finally about to get himself up and cleaned off when he hears a knock at his door.

"It’s locked," Cas says, shaking his head, and reaching for clothing.

"Cas," Dean’s voice says, deep and labored. "If I didn’t already know that, I’d have been in there thirty minutes ago."


End file.
